Supernatural Friday: Stygian Fiends (Original Poem)

Enjoy this original poem I wrote for the next to the last Supernatural Friday of September 2017. Do not share the poem, but do share the link to friends, so they can read it too.

Stygian Fiends

By

Pamela K. Kinney

The world is

not as it

should appear.

There is a

hidden, dark truth.

Dead things 

among us,

hunt us,

wanting us,

so, they can

feed upon

our souls.

Eat us,

Become us,

Their darkness

Overcoming our essence,

sucking us dry,

until, no more

do we exist.

My Bringing Horror out of Darkness Talk at North Chesterfield Road Library Tonight

I will be talking tonight about writing horror at Chesterfield County Public Library's North Chesterfield Road branch, in their meeting room. That will be from 7:00 to 8:00 p.m. The address is 325 Courthouse Road, North Chesterfield, Virginia 23236.  It's free, but you need to preregister at http://chesterfield.evanced.info/signup/eventdetails?eventid=7675&lib=1008&return=  or call the librry branch about it at (804) 318-8499. I won't be selling my books, but you can bring any copies you have and I will sign, plus I am giving away two horror fiction books of mine to be signed.


Pamela K. Kinney, author of horror novels and true-life ghost books, will discuss the pleasures of writing horror; the legacy of classic writers like Edgar Allan Poe, Bram Stoker and Mary Shelley; and how modern writers like Stephen King and Virginia author Elizabeth Massie show there's more to monsters than just scaring people. 

Supernatural Friday: Night of the Crimson Moon

Darkness roamed that night ,
A cold, oily shadow
Pausing, it sniffs the air
Searching, searching,
For the sweet scent of children.

Freed from the bowels of the earth
Where it slept for a hundred years
Waiting for that one special night--
The night of the crimson moon.

The ominous moon hung low in the sky
Seemingly hungry as the beast.
Prowling the skies for innocent stars
Not unlike the monster,
Who hunted for human prey.

But some sixth sense told the people true,
Keep the little ones indoors,
And keep watch so that they didn't stray outdoors.
Various protections at locked windows and doors.
Keeping out those not allowed in.

When a blushing dawn danced over the horizon,
One touch of warm, golden finger
And the creature recoiled.
Chased away, it bolted for its lair of darkness,
Back to sleep for another hundred years.

Maybe, just maybe,
When the crimson moon night came around again
Humankind might forget,
That the night holds more than the darkness
And a plump child would fill the hunter's belly.

This an original poem by Pamela K. Kinney, so is copyrighted by her. Please do not take and post elsewhere without permission. But do share the link with friends to come and enjoy it.